


year after year

by inexorableformation



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Found Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Parent Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Post-Recall, Reunions, slightly abstract i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexorableformation/pseuds/inexorableformation
Summary: Take a walk with a wraith.
Relationships: Jesse McCree & Reaper | Gabriel Reyes
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	year after year

**Author's Note:**

> in case you were confused: yeah i do write literally the same hurt comfort fic in four thousand different variations and slightly different phrasings but not really BUT this is therapeutic 
> 
> im extremely invested in a lot of very specific headcanons and scenarios regarding reaper and writing these is always fun

"You know," McCree says and laughs through the void in his head, his chest, "sometimes I wish Reyes would just pop up again for a second. Just one second, y'know? So I could say goodbye properly. Sorry, too, for running off like I did when he was dyin' already."

"He wanted you to get away from Overwatch, didn't he?"

He sighs so deep his lungs burn.

"Yeah, I guess. But that don't mean much. Felt like Reyes woulda cut off his arm to keep me safe sometimes."

"That wouldn't have surprised me," Ana replies, hurt and fond and bitter enough for McCree to lift his head from the counter. "You're his son. He would have died for you."

McCree laughs, unhappy, wraps his arms around himself.

"I didn't want him to."

#

McCree lights a cigarette on his way home. Raises it to the night sky in a silent toast before throwing it and then the contents of his stomach into the nearest ditch. Coughs and sputters and trembles through it, head spinning with the force of the burn behind his eyes.

"Drinking yourself to death, cowboy?"

McCree spins around to see the owl-faced ghost on the side of the road. A mask. No visible weapons. He wipes his mouth.

"Wasn't drinkin'," he says. "Don't need it, 'm fucked up enough without it right now."

"I can see that."

Midnight is silent. The grass underneath McCree's fingers brushes against his skin and he rips out a blade, places it back down. Sighs, defeated.

"What do you want?"

Reaper tilts his head but when he crosses his arms over his chest it's a little too quickly, a little too tense. The tips of his claws drip smoke.

"You wanted to talk to me," he says and shifts. "So here I am."

McCree opens his mouth and closes it again when the knife twists in his chest. It's a deep cut, a festering wound that was never allowed to heal. He tries to get up but his legs wobble, force him back to the ground. Stares up from the dirt at the ghost with fear in no eyes.

"So I am hallucinatin'," McCree says. "Gotcha."

Reaper watches.

"If you were, why would I appear like this?"

"Huh?"

"You didn't know that Reaper was someone you knew until seconds ago. How could your hallucinations show you information you don't have?"

McCree bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds.

"They don't gotta make sense."

"Mhmm," Reaper says. "Okay."

Then, "Walk with me for a bit."

With the blink of an eye and the drop of a hat McCree struggles to get to his feet. Reaches out and accepts the clawed hand offered to him, grasps it tight. Finds a steady balance.

"Take a walk with a wraith," he says and his crooked smile finds little answer, "not my worst idea ever."

#

McCree squints at the owl mask, then up at the sky.

"How'd you know?"

"I saw you in Dorado two days ago," Reaper says. "Because you went to the spot I took you to after your mother died. You left a candle for me last year so I tend to check when I end up in town."

McCree shrugs through the grief.

"Reyes always said flowers made him sad. Thought maybe a candle'd be a lil' less..."

"Final."

"Yeah," McCree says. "Yeah, that's a good word."

They walk through empty fields on a fissured road. The storm in the distance stays ahead of them, always two steps ahead. A rumble in the oil-black sky a flash of lightning at the horizon line. Then, calm. Then, rain.

"You said you had a lot to say if you got the chance," Reaper starts and tilts his mask up towards the raindrops, the face of the owl, the skull. "So did I. Can't remember any of it."

McCree laughs.

"Head's empty."

"Yeah. Unfortunate."

"Well, 's a dream," McCree says. "Road's not gonna end until I wake up. So there's time."

Reaper turns the mask towards him.

"I thought I was a hallucination?"

"Don't make much of a difference."

"Mhmm," Reaper says. "You got it."

McCree shakes the water out of his serape, smoothes down the fabric against his chest and stuffs his hands back into his pockets. He's cold. He shivers. He feels like he's burning.

"I wanted to say sorry."

Reaper glances over.

"For what?"

"Reyes and I had a fight," McCree forces out between his aching teeth. "Well, we had several at the end. Was wild 'cause we only used to argue when I first joined because I was a stupid scared kid thinkin' he was out to kill me. The last ones were different, we both said a lot of awful shit. Wanted him to realize Moira was killin' him. I wasn't aware he already knew and just didn't see any other option. I just- I was so fuckin' scared of havin' to bury him too, y'know? Sucked to watch him get worse every day. Was the first time we didn't talk about this kinda thing properly. I ran off and he died."

Reaper hums.

"Not because you left, though."

"Don't make much of a difference," McCree says and bites down on his trembling bottom lip. "Not to me at least. Not to feelin' guilty."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I'm still sorry."

"I'm sorry, too, for what I said."

"I was just so fuckin'-"

"You were never stupid," Reaper says, decisive.

McCree's throat hurts almost too much to laugh.

"Yeah, Reyes always hated when I said that 'bout myself."

"And you kept saying it."

"Bad habit. Did quit smokin' though. Haven't been drunk in ages. I think he'd be happy with that."

"I am," Reaper says. "I'm proud of you."

"Nice of my brain to make you say that."

"It's the truth."

They follow the road and the air is thin as they travel through an underpass, the other side far away one step away. One of the old lamps blinks in and out of life, electric sparks raining down on McCree's head. He curses, steps to the side. Freezes as he sees Reaper halt with him. He casts a shadow.

"You're scared of me being real."

"Nah," McCree says and can't find the strength to swallow his fear. "'M scared of allowin' myself to believe you're real and then wakin' up in ten minutes knowin' my dad's still dead."

"There's an easy fix."

"What is it?"

"We just meet again another day," Reaper says and there's the end of the road, the edge of town, the last pale light of the tunnel illuminating the face of the owl. "If that's what you want."

#

The storm has passed, retreated early in the morning. Night will descend again in a few hours but for now the sun is still in his eyes as McCree wanders the wastes again. His head is as clear as the air. A plane passes overhead and he follows its trail with his eyes, follows the road alongside the old river. There's a boulder at the edge of the open field and a figure resting in its shadow. Waiting. McCree hesitates. Approaches a ghost.

"You look like you're doing a little better," Reaper says and gets up. "Had me worried with how out of it you were the other day."

McCree sees no mask and counts scars.

"You're real," he says. "You're actually real."

"Allegedly."

Reaper throws something in his direction and McCree catches it out of reflex. A glass marble about the size of an eye. Swirling rainbow colors form a multitude of patterns.

"Just in case you don't trust your memory later," Reaper says. "Don't lose it."

"This yours?"

"Nah. One of Sombra's friends collects them. But I think I'm considered extended family so she let me take one."

"Interesting choice."

"My other option was handing you a loaf of bread."

It startles a laugh out of McCree, something familiar and fond and rooted in a far-away happiness. He keeps it up, chuckles even when it doesn't feel deliberate. Reaper smiles and when he gestures towards the road McCree follows. With night fast approaching the rain isn't far, either.

"So we got the apologies out of the way," Reaper says. "Did you remember any of the other things you wanted to tell me?"

McCree digs his jittery fingers into the metal of his forearm.

"Are you still... ?"

"Am I still the person I was?"

McCree coughs.

"Yeah. That."

Reaper shrugs into the rain. The fog follows his every move.

"No," he says. "But I still don't want funeral flowers."

"Fair enough."

"I do want to ask you if you're okay, though."

McCree makes a soft noise of surprise before he can stop himself. Uprooted, like a tumbleweed. One of his steps is too unfocused and he stumbles over a pebble on the road, curses, regains his balance.

"Like, in general?" he asks. "Yeah, 'm okay. Well, most days. If I get enough sleep and remember to eat something between jobs."

Reaper hums and only moves when McCree does, too. Into the underpass. Into the dark.

"Bounty hunting, hm?"

"It's decent work. You can pick who you're goin' for and all. You could give it a try."

"I will."

McCree almost stumbles again.

"What?"

"I will," Reaper says. "When all is said and done and Talon served its purpose. There's no need to retire."

"Ghosts should be allowed to rest at some point."

"There's still work to do."

"Fair enough," McCree says and smiles. "So-"

The end of the tunnel is ahead so suddenly his head spins. The city awaits but the border between life and death does, too, the threshold. He stops in his tracks and the blood fades from his face, the strength from his arms. It's still evening. It's still raining. Reaper sighs.

"You wanted to say goodbye," Reaper starts, hesitates. "Right? That's what you asked for. A chance to say goodbye."

McCree nods once, twice. Looks up and hates the look he knows is in his eyes.

"Do you want me outta your hair?"

Reaper laughs against the backdrop of the city.

"No, I don't," he says, clear and simple. "You're my son and I love you. But I asked you. I'll respect your decision."

McCree can't rein in the frown.

"You really think I'm gonna tell you to fuck off? After, like, mourning you for ten years and thinkin' I left you to die?"

Reaper still laughs.

"No. But I wanted to ask."

"Meet again another day, then?"

"Why, do you have somewhere to be?"

"No, uh," McCree says and gestures towards the end of the road. "But-"

He trails off. Shakes his head. Steps over the threshold out the tunnel and into the city. Reaper follows, laughing quietly, only a small distance behind. Not quite there. Not quite-

"'Allegedly'," McCree says and snorts. "You bastard."

He turns the glass marble in the metal hand and drops it back into his pocket. Then he reaches out, pulls Reaper close for a hug and into the waking world.


End file.
